


Zastrugi

by Naughty_Yorick



Series: The Alphabet Game [27]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Dreams, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Toussaint (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: Snow piled against Geralt’s boots in drifts, threatening to bury his legs. He trudged onwards, battling through the snow, willing himself to keep moving, keep heading onwards.Geralt is trapped in snow. Behind him, the Wild Hunt are closing in. Beneath him, Toussaint is frozen in ice. But this is wrong - all wrong. The Hunt are defeated. So why is he being chased? Set after Blood & Wine, featuring Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Alphabet Game [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983026
Comments: 14
Kudos: 111





	Zastrugi

**Author's Note:**

> I challenged myself to write a fic for every letter of the alphabet. I took each letter, plugged it into a random word generator and wrote a fic based on whichever word it gave me. This letter is "Z", and the word is "Zastrugi", which are basically snow drifts. See more of my Alphabet Challenge on my tumblr, [here!](https://a-kind-of-merry-war.tumblr.com/post/632799468062916608/alphabet-game-master-post)

Snow piled against Geralt’s boots in drifts, threatening to bury his legs. He trudged onwards, battling through the snow, willing himself to keep moving, keep heading onwards. 

The whiteness spread as far as he could see, the grey-white colour of the landscape blending with the grey-white colour of the sky, mingling at the horizon. It was like being trapped in a blank canvas. The only thing splitting it were dashes of black - dark marks against the sky - the peak of Mount Gorgon, which once loomed over Toussaint like a giant. Now it was no more than a dirty blip on the horizon.

Beneath it, Geralt could see the very tip of the tallest spire of the Beauclair Palace jutting haphazardly from the ground. The snow had nearly buried it, the once rolling landscape now as flat as a Zerrikanian desert, complete with dunes: the icy, battering winds had sculpted the snow into treacherous zastrugi.

He was heading for the spire. He didn’t know why: just knew that he had to reach it. It was the only feasible shelter for miles. Perhaps someone else had survived the Wild Hunt. Perhaps there were people there, hidden within the tower, waiting. 

He marched onwards.

There was a noise behind him, like ice cracking. Like the world splitting in two. The wind’s incessant battering became even stronger, the snowfall becoming a blizzard. He didn’t need to turn around to recognise that noise: they were back.

He tried to run, but his legs were tangled and unwieldy beneath him. The snow slowed him down, but worse was the sudden numbness, his legs no longer responding to his thoughts. The Wild Hunt gained on him, and soon he could hear the howling of the hounds, the clanging of their armour. He tried to move again but his legs twisted beneath him and he fell into a snowdrift, swallowing him up.

“Geralt?”

A voice on the wind. A familiar voice.

The snow around his ankles spun itself into cloth. The ice pressed to his cheek was soft, and warm, and silky. The iron-tinged scent of cold air became hot and muggy, tart with the smell of fermenting grapes.

“Geralt!” 

There was a hand pressed to his bare shoulder. Geralt wrenched his eyes open, still half-expecting to see nothing but whiteness. Instead, there was a worried face hovering above him.

“The dream, again?” Jaskier looked down at him nervously, his long dark hair plastered to his forehead. “With the Hunt?”

Geralt nodded, unable to speak.

Jaskier shifted closer to him, wrapping an arm around him.

“You’re alright,” he said, slowly. “It’s over. You’re safe. _She’s_ safe.”

Geralt huffed a small noise of assent into Jaskier's shoulder, letting himself lean into the embrace. At the height of a sweltering Toussaint summer it was too hot, really, for this kind of closeness - but he could still feel the sting of snow on his cheek, the ice clinging to his ankles. He shivered, despite the heat.

Jaskier pressed a clammy kiss to his forehead, and held him closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Tis done! Because I posted these on Tumblr first, responding to Asks, this wasn't actually the last one I wrote (that was [I, for Important](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252922))... in fact, it was number ~15ish. I also originally wrote it with Dandelion, but for AO3 I felt it really needed to be Jaskier. Sorry, Dandy.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who's read these fics. I'm amazed at all the comments and kudoses and you're all utterly lovely people. Thanks to everyone who's stuck around to read all 27 (including doubling up on the letter "L"). If you want to see more of my nonsense, come and say hello on my tumblr - [a-kind-of-merry-war](https://a-kind-of-merry-war.tumblr.com/)! I post fics there first, and also make memes and gifsets.


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